There’s something magical about setting some time aside to let your inner self wander.
Stop dreaming of counterfactual timelines. Stop coveting a better past. Stop searching for your failings in the achievements of others.
In an odd sense, our campus culture is right; each of us is a leader in our own, humble capacity.
PBHA seems focused on pushing Harvard students to volunteer their time instead of encouraging them to offer their most valuable resource to those in need—their money.
Talk to a soldier, and you’ll quickly notice that we’re too damn tired, too damn hungry, and too damn sore to fake any of it.
Love is about finding someone who is compatible—not perfect—and choosing to love them despite their imperfections in the hopes that they may one day come to love you too.
Games like Hearts of Iron IV gamify conquest; they abstract the suffering of war and separates military conflicts from their dark political foundations.
We’ve been deceived by Silicon Valley into thinking that its platforms can grant us happiness. The truth is, we’re mortals with an ever-shrinking amount of time left on earth.
As the time for those I love has dwindled, I’ve come to question whether all the time I’ve spent studying was worth anything.
Am I somehow cheating if I claim the Hispanic identity without having shared in its suffering?
But amongst close friends, self-deprecating, cynical, dark humor—the language of the morbidly joyful—provides the perfect disruption.
Cadets and students alike tend to mistake inexperience and ignorance for incompetence.
War is not beautiful. War is the screams of helpless men. War is the sobbing of orphaned children. War is the silence of a city wiped from existence.
I want unfiltered answers, not a pat on the back or another consolatory sandwich from some OCS event.
For eight weeks I had the pleasure of working at the Pentagon, and my god, I was about as useful as a broken office stapler.